06/15/2015 addendum

  The mood is calm and relaxed.

  It's been a good day.

  I'd mentioned in a prior entry that my dishwasher was broken. After what is laughingly referred to as a repair visit from someone from Sears, I decided to do the repairs myself. Ordering the parts was no problem, installing them was.

  Most things nowadays are designed with very few user replaceable parts. The hoses on my dishwasher can be replaced by someone with a little mechanical skill but most of the fasteners are one-time use things. I concluded an alternative approach was needed.

  Since the hose ends have metal collars, I just cut the fittings off of the new hoses and attached them to the old hoses with a short length of tubing and band clamps. Just a little tightening to stop some leaking and the dishwasher is as good as new.

  I logged on to Sears Home Services and insisted on a refund for the repair visit since all the chap did was show up with no parts and tell me what I already knew. This was difficult. Apparently Sears doesn't like giving refunds.

  In my defense, I only implied the representative may have some female canine ancestry, I didn't come right out an say so.

  So, after a short, unpleasant exchange I was told someone would e-mail me within 24 hours to tell me whether I'd be getting a refund or not. I was told there would be a customer service number to contact if I don't agree with the decision.

  I pointed out to the representative that the last time I called customer service, I was on hold for 20 minutes and when the call was answered it was a voice mail greeting, in broken English, telling me I'd reached 'Dave' and that he wasn't taking calls right now. The representative gave me two other toll-free numbers.

  I haven't tried them yet but I'm looking forward to attempting to communicate with someone in Kashmir...or Siberia.

  I was babbling nonstop at work today. I seem to have a great deal of excess energy recently.

  Today is the ninth day since my last cigarette. My nose isn't stuffed up all the time. There is no rattling or whistling when I exhale through my mouth. I don't get winded taking out the trash. I'm still not able to sleep more than six hours at a time; the pain still drives me back into this world. But it seems I'm getting a better quality of sleep.

  And I'm getting more oxygen now.

  I'm okay with this so far. There was a brief panic on Saturday. Nice dropped me off after dinner. I changed in to my comfy clothes, grabbed my Kindle and a Twisted Tea, and went to read for a bit. I couldn't find my vape anywhere.

  I tore my bag apart. I scattered everything on the kitchen table. I checked the living room, the carport, and the parking lot. Nothing. I texted Nice, then decided she might not see it until she got home so I called. I told her where I had been putting it in her car.

  It wasn't there.

  She was on her way back here so we could tear her car apart when I remembered I had taken it to the bathroom with me. It was sitting on the sink. Having to live your life within a series functional patterns has a very large down side.

  Do one thing different, leave one puzzle piece out of place, and you can end up going mad because things aren't connecting the way their supposed to. You keep doing the same thing over and over and become increasingly more agitated because you keep getting a result that isn't supposed to be. I'm fortunate that Nice is very easygoing and patient.

  I doubt I'd be able to put up with me.

  Anyway, the pattern designed for a non-smoking lifestyle is still forming. I'm amazed at the sheer number of triggering behaviors involved in smoking. I would light up when this happened. I would light up when I got here. I would light up when I did this. Everything seemed to be geared around where and when I could light up a smoke—or seeing how many I can fit in before I get somewhere that I can't smoke.

  Madness.

  As I was walking from the parking lot to the entrance at the VA hospital this morning (also a trigger point) I was thinking about how ridiculous strolling about with a smoking paper tube shoved into my mouth must look.

  That was the first time I'd viewed smoking in a negative light (pun intended). Up until that point, my general feeling was that I was doing something temporary and I'd get back to my old self soon. Not that I wanted to start up again, it just felt that way.

  My chest was a little congested today and it kinda sounds like I'm losing my voice but everyone in my pod said they were having problems too. Likely pollen, so I'm not too worried. It's surprising, really. I inhale, up to the point where I was able to do while I was smoking, and find there's a little more space.

  A deep breath is now very satisfying. I can smell the lavender in the candle warmer, not vaguely floral-scented smoke. Food tastes different. I don't need to have the car windows open while it's 95 degrees outside.

  All very good things.

  But I really want a cigarette.

  That too shall pass.

  Thanks for listening

06/23/2015

  The mood is wildly variable. Level, to hopeful, to cranky.

  This is irritating. It makes it hard to focus on anything. But here goes anyway...

  Okay class. Today's logic problem is this: You are driving. It's daytime but there is a severe storm which is inhibiting your ability to see where you're going.

  So you decide to stop and wait it out.

  This is a wise decision. A smart person knows when things are too dangerous to proceed. So, you've stopped. Now, the problem: If you stopped because you couldn't see in front of you, wouldn't it be faulty logic to assume anyone else traveling the same road in the same conditions could see any better than you could?

  This being the case, is it also not a logical defect to stop ---in---the traffic lane?? Would it not have been much wiser to pull off to the side of the road? Could you possibly have avoided the rear-end collision you are now involved in simply by not assuming that, because you've stopped, everyone else on the road had also stopped?

  I've come to the conclusion that people are so wrapped up in themselves that they see nothing that does not have a direct effect on them.

  The back end of your car is mashed in because you made an assumption. Up until the moment that pickup truck hit you there was no possibility that such a thing could occur because it would involve thinking about everyone and everything around you.

  Sometimes that point has to be driven home—or towed home as the case may be—for people to understand that there's a whole world around them. Thoughtlessness seems to be a very common thing.

  I'm guilty of the same thing.

  Mind you, I wouldn't stop in the middle of a traffic lane in a blinding thunderstorm. But I do, frequently, forget that what I say here can have a much wider effect than I realize. So how do I go about being honest in what I write without causing distress in everyone reading it?

  That's a puzzle, to be sure.

  So there was a huge storm. It's been threatening all day and it finally broke when? If you guessed 'two seconds before I stepped out the door to go home' you win! Give yourself a pat on the back. The rain was coming down in sheets. The wind was blowing with hurricane force. The roads were littered with bits of trees and bushes, people's trash cans and recycling bins, garden gnomes and birdbaths, the occasional farm animal with a very surprised look on it's face...okay I'm exaggerating a little. But that was one wild storm.

  The trip home went okay apart from having to get around the chap I mentioned in the first few paragraphs.

  The bottom of the rubber tip on the end of my cane had worn all the way through to the wood so I absolutely had to stop at CVS to get a new one. I was parked no more than fifteen steps from the door and still got soaked going in and out.

 I really, really wanted to buy a pack of smokes. I bought a pint of Hagen-Das chocolate ice cream instead. I'm not sure whether to be proud of myself or not. But I'm eating some ice cream instead of sucking down some carbon monoxide so I'm going to call that a win.

  I'm up to 17 days. I had absolutely no idea that a craving could last this long. I still have moments of tooth-grinding, gut-wrenching need. That last word should be all in caps. Not little need, big need. Like right in the front of your mind and no one had better get between me and that cigarette kind of need.

 When this happens, I reach for the vape. If that's not an option I pop some gum or mints (all sugar free). If I have no gum or mints I just take a few really deep breaths. Then I realize that I -can- take really deep breaths.

  It's like there's a part of my lungs that wasn't accessible before. It feels good to fill that space up. That helps a great deal. I'm hoping that desperate need will dial down at some point. I'm not sure how much of this I can tolerate.

  The Breakfast Club has been resurrected!

  This makes me very happy. The Breakfast Club started with a few people in one of the caseload units going to breakfast once a month. They would take turns picking the place. I was invited one month by Nice Wendy and I'd been going regularly since then.

  This was at a time in my life when I was falling apart on a regular basis. I had no friends, the only family I had actually made me feel worse when I was around them...I was cut off from the world. Going to The Breakfast Club every month helped me claw my way out of the pit I was in.

  Some months I just couldn't bring myself to go out into the world. I still have days like that. But it was mostly a good experience. I got to spend time with a group of people who knew and accepted me. It's a good feeling.

  Anyway, The Breakfast Club died when lots of people RSVP'd one weekend but only two people showed up. I was distressed. During dinner with The Wendy's on Saturday I mentioned maybe doing dinner once a month, take turns picking the place, something like that. We kicked around the idea of trying to revive The Breakfast Club.

  I wasn't holding my breath.

  Nice Wendy sent an e-mail out on Monday to see who was interested in doing breakfast again and everyone said they were in. The response was overwhelmingly good. It was almost like everyone was just waiting for someone to start it up again.

  So it's on!

  This Saturday at Lion's Pride in Red Lion (for my out of state friends, yes, that's the actual name of the town). Yippee! Evil Wendy even offered to buy breakfast for me since I picked up the dinner tab at Prudhommes.

  Lots of friends and free food.

  What could be better?



Thanks for listening 

06/25/2015

  The mood is still somewhat dismal but the outlook if hopeful.

  My therapy session was very productive today. Every session starts with my doctor asking if there's anything specific I'd like to talk about. I wanted to talk about the extended malaise that seems to have settled in and isn't in any hurry to go anywhere.

  He first asked me to characterize the feeling. I always find this very difficult to do—at least during the session. I come up with dozens of great descriptive terms afterward, when they're not much help. Anyway, I settled on bleak, flat, featureless, morose, dismal...and so on.

  Then he asked where in my body I'm feeling these things. I know this question is coming and I never have an answer. Where am I feeling things? It's not like a pain. At least not like a physical pain. It can't be localized. It just is. So we moved on.

  As I was talking about this I discovered a common event. This whole state began at the same time I realized that, if I didn't quit smoking soon, I would end up doing so on the involuntary program. That program involves a shovel and dirt and is likely far worse than just going cold turkey.

 I had decided to quit smoking weeks before I actually had my last cigarette. But there was always the excuse. I'll just finish this pack. I'll just use up the rest of the bag tobacco. I'll start this weekend. I'm not in the right state of might right now...and so on. I began to feel really depressed because I was becoming convinced there was no way I was going to be able to do this.

  That feeling just clung to me and got worse every time I bought more smokes. Well, I finally used up the bag tobacco. I didn't buy any new cigarettes. I let the ones I had run out. And that was that.

  Something to feel good about, right?

  Wrong. This is something that had been a part of my life for thirty-five years. A core behavior. Not something I can just drop. So I avoided buying more smokes. I kept up with the vape. I bought cart-loads of mints and gum.

  But in the background, there was always this tremendous sense of loss. Like I'd lost something vital. Something comfortable. Something familiar. And today was the first time I realized that what I've been feeling for the past several weeks has been grief.

  I'm actually morning the loss of cigarettes.

  While this realization made me feel better, it hasn't resulted in a cure. I'm still feeling low. Kinda bleak. It may take a little time to recover, but I don't feel so lost now.

  I'm going to be okay.

   Thanks for listening.

07/06/2015

  The mood is sad. A little nostalgic. And confused.

  So two of The Wendy's are not speaking to me. They're not speaking to me because I got angry and snapped at them. They're also insisting we aren't friends anymore.

  This accounts for both Sad and Confusing.

  I don't understand. I was fairly certain that friends end up fighting from time to time but then things calm down and everything's fine. Apparently I misunderstood. I had mentioned previously that we were able to get along because they know what to expect from me.

 Apparently that was also incorrect.

  I'm almost completely clueless when it comes to social interaction but I feel their responses were somewhat excessive. A little help please?

  My living situation is the best it's been in my entire life. I've had the same phone number for four years. I've lived at the same address for three years. In that time no utilities were turned off for non-payment—yes, this happened a lot.

  Windsor is a quiet place—apart from the rooster whom I foresee a terrible, horrible, tragic, unavoidable accident involving a significant loss of feathers and a dunking in a deep fryer. Hey, accidents happen.

  Sorry, got distracted.

  Anyway, Windsor is a very quiet place. I have covered parking right outside my front door. The Stealth House is absolutely the coolest place I've ever rented. If you have the opportunity to live in a converted gas station, take it. It's the best.

  So I feel mostly safe and comfortable. There have been no incidents of any kind with the neighbors. The house is sitting all by it self with a huge distance between me and the nearest house. I haven't met my neighbors and have no desire to. I find people who leave their blinds closed—always--are just creepy and probably trying to hide something.

  I am becoming comfortable with The Thingy.

  I'm calling it The Thingy because it's too big to be a car but too small to be a truck. Somewhere in between. Don't know if there was a word for that previously but there is one now. I've had to amend my driving habits—significantly.

  The Thingy's center of gravity is much higher and it tends to lean alarmingly if I go into a turn to fast. Up until this point I'd only ever owned cars that fell into the sports or performance categories. So face-stretching acceleration and insane speeds in the curves.

 This is Pennsylvania. There are lots of curves. And hills. So kinda fun driving if you're in to that sort of thing. But I digress. The Thingy is higher and grossly underpowered. This is not a bad thing, mind you. I probably shouldn't be driving this small SUV like it's a Ferrari.

  So I've calmed down a bit on the roads.

  The Thingy is much more comfortable than my previous car. Also much more quiet. Getting in and out is easy, no climbing involved. It's also four wheel drive so I won't be as terrified driving in snow.

  And I can give my friends a ride in to work if they don't want to risk driving their cars.

  If I still have any friends by then.

  Thanks for listening

 

07/13/2015

  The mood is edgy. Vacillating between tears and anger.

  Okay. I had mentioned before that I needed to be honest when I do these entries. But I was really on the fence about this one. I had a long conversation with Nice Wendy about the pros and cons of saying what I'm going to say. There's a big down side to this because there are a lot of people who care about me who read these posts.

  I came to the conclusion that keeping this bottled up will have a very detrimental effect on my overall emotional state and that keeping things bottled up will only make it worse. So, for better or for worse here goes.

 I cut myself again. Eight times. A little deeper than the last time but nothing that required medical attention. I did it because I felt I needed to be punished. Or, at least, punished more. Punished enough so I would be forgiven. Hoping that blood would make things better.

  This is, of course, foolish. This sort of behavior is simply self-destructive.

  This used to happen a lot twenty years ago. And I had gone decades free of the need to scar myself. To let the rest of the world know the depth of the pain I was in. It's irrational. There's no good reason to do this. None at all.

 I know doing this does more harm to others than it does to me. I know how it feels to be worried about someone and left to feel like there's nothing you can do about it. I would like to be able to convince everyone that there's no real danger but this is also foolish. Cut yourself then claim there's nothing wrong?

  As if.

  I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I have an appointment with my VA provider this week. I'm going to get some professional help. I hope this eases things, at least a little.

  I'm not out of control of myself when this happens. I'm not in a fugue state. I'm fully cognizant and rational. But the uppermost thought in my mind is that I've done wrong. That I haven't suffered enough. That maybe if I hurt just a little more it will be enough. That I'll be forgiven. That everything will be right again.

 Strangely, where I used to feel relieved afterward Now, I'm just angry. And embarrassed. I'm seeing things in a much clearer light. I'm seeing the why of this. I do not deserve this.

  I spent a large portion of my life being abused. I accepted this because I thought I had done something to deserve it. I always believed myself at fault. I'm beginning to understand that this is not the truth. I don't deserve to hurt more. It's not worth it. No one is worth this.

  And it's not going to happen again.

  Not ever.

 I'm going to be okay.

  Thanks for listening